Come To Me
by LadySolitaire83
Summary: Sherlock is bored to death at John and Mary's wedding reception. That is, until he sets his sights on Molly Hooper. Wank!Lock. Sherlolly. Enjoy.


**COME TO ME**

**A/N: Who's in the mood for some Wank!Lock? I hope you all are because this is my first PWP and writing this almost ruined pretty panties. This was difficult to write because I've never written this kind of stuff before. So please forgive the mistakes.**

**The inspiration for this story came from a certain Setlock pic of Benedict (check my Tumblr for that). The title comes from JC Chasez's song _Come To Me_. (Yes, I suck at giving titles.)**

**I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.**

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Sherlock Holmes sat by himself as he watched the guests at the Watson-Morstan wedding reception mingle with each other. He smirked when his gaze fell on John holding his bride close at the centre of the dance floor. The smirk disappeared once he took his eyes off them. While he found the former Miss Morstan worthy of his friend's affections, he was also mildly worried about his marriage's effect on their friendship and their business partnership. He had also observed and deduced everyone else in the ballroom and was beginning to get antsy with boredom.

He was about to stand up and sneak a smoke outside when he spotted Molly Hooper. She was talking and laughing with Lestrade as they walked back to their table. He rolled his eyes at her ridiculously cheerful outfit. _Typical Molly_, he thought. She wore a yellow cardigan over a yellow floral dress, a pair of yellow flats, and a big yellow bow on her head.

It was odd for him to see her in a dress. Since he met her seven years ago, he had only seen her in frumpy blouses, baggy trousers, childish sweaters and cardigans, and sensible flats and loafers. Even when he stayed at her flat while he recovered from his injuries, he often wondered what she did with the dresses she bought but never seemed to wear. The only other time she wore a dress was at that Christmas party at Baker Street. He let out a soft groan and shook off the memory, as he could still feel the embarrassment and guilt for his actions that night. But he couldn't delete that memory from his mind palace, no matter how many times he tried.

He gazed at her as she chatted and laughed with Lestrade. He watched her red lips stretch into a bright smile. Her voice, hoarse with laughter, reached his ears. The memory of her voice seductively saying his name jolted him out of watching her. He tried to shake it off, but everything - her concerned voice imploring him to sleep, the extreme annoyance he felt that led him to silence her with a kiss, the feel of her soft lips and her tongue against his, the breathy way she said his name when they broke apart, the ensuing awkwardness - came back. He grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and took a big gulp. _Fuck, I thought I'd deleted that._ He locked the memory away and brought his attention back to Molly.

He observed that her dress accentuated her gentle curves. The soft yellow of the dress complemented her skin tone and the bright colours of the flowers on the dress reflected her cheerful disposition. Her long brown hair was neatly tucked in a bun, showing off her slender neck. When she stood to hug a co-worker, he noted that her breasts were proportional to her small frame.

He shifted in his seat and looked away from the pathologist. He felt a stirring in his groin, something he hadn't felt since he met the Woman. _Fuck_, he thought as his body continued to betray him. He glanced around and was relieved that no one was paying attention to him. Not even Molly. He furrowed his brows and wondered why she wasn't trying to talk him up. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. _What the hell is happening to me?_

He retreated to his mind palace. He entered the room of childhood and adolescent memories in the basement. It didn't work. Neither did the painful memories of his drug addiction and rehabilitation. Even the memories of his time as an assassin didn't help. He went into his brother's room and opened one of the many boring government files that filled the shelves. He gave up after a couple of minutes of reading the contents. He went into the room designated for his acquaintances and picked up the file folder on Anderson. Still didn't work.

When he gave up and came back to the present, he felt eyes on him. He turned to his left and found himself face to face with Molly. She was sitting on the chair next to his. "Hi, Sherlock." She smiled at him. Her brown eyes were warm and friendly, but they had never looked more seductive to him. _Fuck_, he thought as he grew harder.

He was thankful that the ivory tablecloth concealed the bulge in his trousers. "Hello, Molly." He congratulated himself for keeping his voice even.

"You must be so bored." She raised her arm and wrapped it around the back of the chair. Her cardigan shifted and the outline of her breast was visible. Sherlock swallowed and fought the urge to stare at her chest.

"You have no idea." He rolled his eyes and pouted. She giggled, and he found that the sound had ceased to annoy him. It also did nothing but excite him even more. _What have you done to me, Molly?_

She crossed her legs and Sherlock caught a glimpse of her bare thigh. The throbbing in his groin began to ache. He took a deep breath. _Damn you, Molly Hooper._ "Could you excuse me for a minute?"

He didn't wait for her answer. He stood and ran for the men's lavatory. He heard her call his name, but he ignored the pathologist and followed the signs to the loo. It was mercifully empty, although he couldn't lock the main door. He entered the farthest stall and locked the door.

He unbuttoned his trousers and released himself from the confines of his silk boxers. He rested his back against the cold wall and let out a soft groan as he wrapped his hand around his shaft. He spat onto his palm and began stroking himself.

He thought of the only time he saw Molly stark naked. He had been staying with her for a few weeks. She had just left the bathroom after her nightly shower and she was in her bedroom changing into her pyjamas. But he had to tell her that she needed to buy cigarettes and nicotine patches, so he came to her bedroom door. He disregarded the annoying little voice, which sounded like John's, warning him that he was not allowed to enter her room without her permission. He opened the door as quietly as he could just as she threw her towel onto the vanity chair. Frozen in the doorway, he stared at her naked form for a moment before she looked up with a yelp and attempted to cover her breasts and pubic area. He immediately closed the door with an apology.

His body had reacted then, but a quick trip to his mind palace quelled his body's rebellion. He had resolved to delete the memory of her nakedness. He knew that it was wrong to keep that image, however alluring it was, in his mind palace. He had tried deleting it multiple times, but it kept popping up. Worse, the image would come unbidden during those three years of hunting down Moriarty's criminal network. When he occasionally gave in to his body's needs, he was surprised that he didn't mind letting go of his self-control. It also gave him a brief respite from his racing mind.

Now, as he pumped his prick more vigorously, he imagined Molly, naked and writhing underneath him, moaning and whispering his name. She would whimper in pleasure as he took her nipple in his mouth and sucked and nipped. As he gave the same treatment to the other nipple, his thumb would rub her engorged clit each time he pounded into her. She would be begging him to fuck her harder and faster. The look of utter bliss on her face as he imagined her tightening her muscles around his cock brought him over the edge, and he spilled his seed into the toilet. He barely registered that he was repeatedly crying out Molly's name as he came.

Once he recovered, he tried his best to clean himself up and to look like he didn't just pleasure himself thinking about the best pathologist in London. He flushed the toilet and exited the stall to wash his hands. He combed his hair with his fingers and wiped his sweaty skin with a towelette. Satisfied that he looked presentable, he swung the door open.

Only to find the very woman he was thinking about staring at him with her big brown eyes.

"Wh-what were you doing in there?" She gestured towards the loo.

"I relieved myself." He started walking back to the ballroom to hide the blush on his cheeks. "What else would I be doing in a toilet?"

But he felt her slim fingers around his wrist and he whirled around to face her, his eyebrow cocked as she attempted to form a coherent sentence. "Y-you were… I, uh, I-I h-heard you shout m-my name." She looked up at him. "Wh-why were you shouting my n-name?"

He looked around and found that they were completely alone in the hallway. He turned back to Molly and took a deep breath. _Good Lord, she has never looked more beautiful._ Her eyes showed the concern that she couldn't articulate. She was chewing on her lower lip, making it plumper than usual. She had let go of his wrist and was now wringing her hands. She had removed the ridiculous bow and tendrils of her hair had escaped her brown tie. His sharp eyes caught her pupils dilate. Her cheeks turned pink. He knew that she had deduced why he was shouting her name.

In that moment, he decided that he wanted her and only her. He wouldn't let the night end without being with her. But right now, he wanted to make her come. _Fuck it_, he thought.

He grabbed her face with his hands and claimed her mouth with his. It took only a moment for her to return his kiss. He backed her up against the wall and lifted her legs. She immediately wrapped them around his hips while his hands gripped her shapely arse. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her hands in his curls. She bucked her hips and her damp centre connected with his groin, making him growl. When they came up for air, he didn't waste precious time and he sucked on the crook of her neck. She moaned and bucked her hips again. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he snaked his free hand under her dress and touched her soaking wet knickers. "Sherlock!" she yelped in surprise.

He looked at her dilated pupils and her flushed cheeks. "May I?" She nodded and he pulled her yellow silk knickers down her thighs. She dropped her legs long enough for her to step out of them. He pocketed her knickers, and she wrapped her legs around his hips again. He wrapped an arm around her waist. He cupped her drenched quim with this free hand and smirked when she whimpered and bit her lip. "I hope you're always this wet for me," he whispered, his deep baritone making her shiver in anticipation. He swallowed her moan when he flicked her clit with his thumb.

She broke away from him when he didn't touch her clit again. "I'm never giving you another kidney or liver or heart if you didn't fucking continue." Her usual soft and sweet voice turned husky with arousal.

He tsk-tsked over her reaction. "Molly, Molly, _dear_." Her eyes widened at the term of endearment. "You don't need to threaten me. I intend to continue until you scream my name." He punctuated his statement with his thumb pressing against her clit.

"Like you screamed mine?" She gave him a wicked smile and seductively bit her lower lip.

He began rubbing her clit in response. He swallowed more moans as he furiously worked her sensitive button. She threw her head back, and he sucked on her exposed throat. She sighed his name when he pressed the pad of his middle finger against her entrance, his thumb never leaving her clit. She grabbed his face and kissed him, their tongues fighting for dominance. She broke away and held his gaze as his finger slid inside, making her moan again. He inserted another finger a moment later and found that he would like to hear her whimper his name over and over again. He bent his head to kiss her upper chest. He smirked against her skin as he added another finger. He pressed harder against her clit and whispered, "Let go, Molly. Come for me." It wasn't long before she tightened around his fingers.

"Sherlock!" she breathed as she rode the waves of her pleasure. She slowly lowered her legs and he held her waist to support her.

He felt his groin stir again as he watched her come down from her orgasm. He pulled his fingers out and licked them once. He offered his fingers to her and she licked them clean. He kissed her tenderly and ground his growing hardness against her when he tasted her.

"What the hell?" John's voice rang through the nearly empty hallway.

Reluctantly, he turned to his best friend. She dropped her face on his shoulder in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. "Yes, John?" His deep baritone was husky with desire.

The look of shock remained on the former army doctor's face for a moment before he began laughing. "Oh, my God." He waved his hand at them as if he were dismissing them and turned back towards the ballroom, still laughing his head off.

Sherlock ignored his best friend and turned his attention back to the woman before him. He crashed his mouth against hers, and she moaned when she tasted herself.

"Didn't take you for the wanking type," she teased when they broke apart.

He growled and thrusted, grinding his hardening cock against her stomach. "Your room or mine?"

She gazed at him, the brown in her eyes barely visible. "Whichever's closer," she whispered.

He smirked at her. "Mine then." He gave her a quick kiss before grabbing her hand and running to his hotel room.

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_So, what do you guys think? Terrible? Decent? Good? _


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